Sancte Diaboli: Part Two (The Elite King's Club 7)

“Night.” I shake my head at him in disapproval as he disappears through the door.

Nate comes in next, but I don’t ignore the fact Brantley is right behind him. I roll my eyes. “You know you’re all terrible.”

Nate winks at me and picks up Tillie the same way Bishop did Madison. Just as he has her mid-air, her eyes pop open and she slaps his arm. “Put me down. I don’t need you to pick me up. I have fucking legs.”

Nate swears, placing her back onto her feet. “You’re fucking impossible, you know that?”

They both leave, and now it’s just Ophelia and Ivy who are snoring on the floor. Brantley hasn’t moved farther into the space, and I haven’t brought my eyes up to his. Truth, I’m afraid. The only thing worse than knowing you love someone irrevocably is feeling your sanity leave your soul anytime he looks at you. That’s what Brantley does to me. Anytime he’s near, I feel his heat against my skin. Anytime he talks, the words that leave his mouth find a home in my bones, and every time he looks at me, it’s like a shot of paralysis being pushed through my veins. He’s well-aware of the power he holds over me, and instead of being a gentleman about it, he uses it as ammunition and shoots me in the heart.

I stand from my chair and make my way toward him, keeping my eyes a safe distance away from him. I just don’t want to do this in here, near O and Ivy, and risk waking them up. I’m passing his chest, ready to walk into the kitchen, or hell, outside, when his hand flies to my arm and he slams me against the wall. There goes that idea.

I groan, my eyes closing. “Stop.”

He’s in front of me, I can feel him. I can feel the warmth from his deep breaths fall over my lips. The unspoken words that haven’t passed his lips yet. “I don’t like being ignored, Dea.”

I turn my head away from him. “I’m not ignoring you. I’m just—”

“—upset?” He leans down and brushes his lips over mine, sending a surge of electricity straight to my core. “Good. Get upset, but you do that shit in front of me, not behind me.”

Finally, I turn to face him. He’s so close that all I can see are his dark eyes. Smoldering heat. I can’t breathe. He leaves burning embers in his wake, but I’d follow in his footsteps anyway.

“Why are you upset with me?” he asks, searching my eyes. He rests one hand up near my head and leaves the other to his side. “Because you married me, or because you preferred it better when you knew you couldn’t have me?”

I snap back in shock. “What?”

He pushes off the wall and leaves, walking up the stairs. I stay for a few moments before I realize I need to follow him up. By the time I reach his bedroom, his door is closed. I contemplate knocking. Then think about barging in and demanding that he explains what he’s talking about. My mouth opens and I rest my hand on the doorknob but hesitate.

“Just do it,” Bailey says, and I turn to face her. She’s leaning against the wall where the staircase separates the two wings. Her eyes are rimmed red, and she sniffs, swiping beneath them. “Honestly just do it. He loves you, Saint.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, ignoring what she just announced. She may be his cousin, but she doesn’t know him the way I do. She doesn’t know that he is incapable of love, and I don’t say that lightly. “Have you been crying?”

Bailey closes her eyes and pushes off the wall, folding her arms across her chest. It’s a ridiculous question because I know she has been. It’s obvious. “I’m fine.” She gestures to the door. “Make things right with him. You’re going to need each other.” She disappears around the corner and I stare back at his door. The black to my white. I fall backward, sliding down my bedroom door while keeping my eyes on his. How many times have I found him in this exact position over the years, right outside my door? Brantley may not be able to love, but that has never stopped my ever-growing feelings for him anyway.

His door swings open and our eyes collide. He’s shirtless and wearing nothing but gray sweats that hang off the tight curve of his abs. His hair is damp, and droplets of water slide down the deep lines of his muscles. “What are you doing?”

I rest my head against my door and lean up to look at him. “I don’t know.”

He steps forward, standing over me. He brings his hand beneath my chin and tilts my face up to his. I try to ignore the way his fingers wrap around the entire bottom half of my face, or that in this position, looking up at him from the floor, is a pretty questionable position to be found in if Bailey decides to come back up. He runs the cushion of his thumb over my bottom lip. “The next time you run into my arms I won’t be letting you go, Saint, so be careful with which door you choose to walk through.” His hand drops down to his side and he disappears down the hallway, until I hear his footsteps fade down the stairs. I know what I want. I’ve always known it’s him. I think deep down that’s not the battle I’m fighting. What’s he going to say when he finds out the secret I’ve been hiding from him? That someone has been sneaking into my mind, wearing his face, and tormenting me every night.